The Next Best Thing
by Animegoil
Summary: Arthur had never told anyone why he's never had kids. Of course, once he tells Cobb, Cobb decides to help with the next best thing. Eames, as usual, bears the brunt of Arthur's particular sense of humor. Some family and team love.
1. Chapter 1

**Written on a whim. Don't even know why, but the idea's pretty cute... and I can see Arthur being a _ person. Won't say anything else ;)  
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**Enjoy! **

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**_The Next Best Thing  
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"I always wanted kids," Arthur says one day, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he sits in Cobb's living room, watching Phillipa teach James how to _properly_ play with dolls.

Cobb raises an eyebrow. He's always known Arthur to be partial to children, his devotion to Phillipa and James proves it, but… "So why didn't you? You and Marianna seemed like such a sure thing," he pauses and takes a swig of his beer, following Arthur's gaze to settle on his children.

Arthur sighs and rolls his shoulders, leaning back into the red leather chair and rubbing the lace armrest cover thoughtfully, "Did I ever tell you why we broke up?"

"Nah. That was just a couple months after we'd met – you said that your futures weren't matching up, but I didn't think it was my place to press for more back then."

Arthur grins a bit, ruefully, "And now it is?"

"Hell yeah."

Arthur's grin widens for a moment and then drops back down to zero, careful, neutral, "She wanted kids. With me."

Cobb stares, uncomprehending, but certain that Arthur will elaborate his cryptic phrase.

Arthur's gaze lingers on Phillipa, on her hands poised bossily on her hips as she says, "Jamie, you're doing it _wrong_, you have to hold her _this_ way or else you'll pull her hair and she'll be sad!"

"I don't think I've told anyone other than my parents and Marianna this, but… I'm sterile."

Cobb blinks, as if it takes him a second to register what Arthur has said, and then he whistles lowly, "Shit, man. How did that happen?"

Arthur shrugs, arms crossing and then quickly uncrossing again, as if unsure of how to best portray nonchalance, "Congenital. I was simply born with it."

"I'm sorry," Cobb says quietly, sincerely, brows furrowed and understanding, better than anyone, how painful that would be. He offers him his beer, and Arthur takes it, taking a small sip, and then hands it back. Cobb speaks carefully, "So what, Marianna didn't want a sperm donor, then?"

"Unfortunately," there is a lot of pain and regret in that one word, muffled and wrapped carefully in the blanket of time, but Cobb hears it clearly nonetheless, "The children wouldn't be _ours_," Arthur glances to the side, meeting Cobb's eyes for a split second, and smiles, the expression sad, but graceful, elegant, like everything Arthur does, "Phillipa and James help a lot. It's the closest I'll ever get to having my own children. They mean a lot to me, you know."

"I know," Cobb murmurs. The silence stretches out for a few minutes, amidst the clock ticking and the birds chirping outside and the neighbor's lawnmower, and most importantly, James's giggles as Phillipa tells him some elaborate story that sounds like an underwater version of Snow White. Cobb shifts, crossing his legs, and takes another sip of his beer. Arthur glances at him, and Cobb passes it to him. Arthur takes a larger swig this time, rolling the bitter taste in his mouth. He's more of a wine fellow, which is why he usually refuses Cobb's offers of beer, but sometimes it doesn't really matter what it is. Cobb watches him nurse it for a while, until there's hardly any left, and then stands up and goes into the kitchen, coming back with two more beers and handing one of them to Arthur.

Cobb sits back down, fingers wrapping around the condensation-slick bottleneck and asks, "Why now?"

Arthur purses his lips, "I realized I'd never told you."

"You didn't have to," Cobb points out gently.

The look Arthur tosses back at him clearly says, _You dolt, of course I did._

When Arthur's birthday comes around, they celebrate it at Cobb's house, because, well. Everything is always at Cobb's house. James and Phillipa look like they're about to burst at the seams, giggling to themselves and repeatedly telling Arthur that they have a _fantasticamazing_ surprise for him. Cobb looks downright devious, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin Arthur's ever seen on him.

"You ready?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, "Just give it to me."

Cobb's eyebrows rise in amusement, hands on his hips, "Alright, you asked for it—"

Before Arthur can retort that as a matter of fact, he asked for _nothing_ this year, Cobb opens the door to the guest bedroom, and the children squeal in delight.

A little golden retriever bounds out, all slimy saliva and shiny, soft hair and skidding paws and bright eyes and a tongue lolling out of his mouth as he circles them and pants, pawing at their legs and then running a few more circles around them and repeating the process all over again.

Arthur feels a little dizzy with shock.

"So?"

He looks up at Cobb's expectant face and finally says, "I think you're mistaking me for your son."

Cobbs face falls slightly and he pouts, "Arthur—"

"I mean, a dog? My apartment's not exactly dog-friendly, and I've never had one. I'm not sure I'm the most reliable person—"

"You're the epitome of reliability!"

Arthur ignores him, "And what are we going to do with it when we get a job?"

"The same thing we do with Phillipa and James. We leave them to my mother-in-law."

"Dom—"

Cobb takes his shoulders and looks at him, "You said you wanted kids. I think _this_ is the closest you'll be able to get. Well, in a sense," he adds.

Arthur's breath leaves him momentarily, and he looks down at the little golden bar of fur that James is trying to pet—though it's more like a clumsy thunk of his hands as he drags them awkwardly along the wiggling animal, but it's too busy licking Phillipa's shrieking face to care about James 'gentle' petting.

A puppy. He'd thought Cobb was crazy, but … when he tries to think of it as something to raise and love and have in his home, the idea doesn't seem so unappealing. He knows of so many people that come to think of their pets as their children…

Maybe…it could work?

Cobb's grip falters at Arthur's continued silence and dumbfounded expression, and he bites his lip, "I'm sorry, I just thought—I mean, I know it's not the same thing, but I thought maybe—"

Arthur's lips curl slowly into a small distant smile, "Dom, you're fine. I think… I think I'll like it," he bends down, holding his hand out, and the pup catches sight of it and leaps to him, eager and curious. It sniffs his hand thoroughly, dragging a cold wet nose through his skin that's then followed by a series of quick insistent licks and leaves Arthur's hand kind of… slimy. Arthur's nose wrinkles, but it's unbearably cute. The pup then decides to nip his finger, digging one pointy, brand new baby canine into his pinkie.

"Ouch!" he snaps his hand away, returning it to pat the pup once on the head, and it scampers back into James's arms. Arthur stands up, inspecting his pinkie, and looks at Cobb's expectant face.

"He's going to be a pain," Arthur says wryly.

Cobb smiles then, knowing he's won the battle, "Well, you know, no one ever said children are easy."

Arthur laughs, watching the pup bark and run circles around Phillipa, wrestling with one of her rag dolls, "I think I have the perfect name for him."

Cobb grins, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. Arthur smirks, and if it weren't Arthur one would say he looked positively evil.

"I think I'll name him Eames."

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**You KNOW I had to have him name the dog that. It's just perfect.  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Fun ideas man, fun ideas :D  
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**Enjoy!  
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_**The Next Best Thing  
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The first thing he does is potty-train Eames. He wishes he could see Eames's face at that statement.

He puts all breakables on higher, stable surfaces when Eames runs and collides with a vase he'd had on the lower shelves of a bookstand. He puts a rug in the kitchen for the food and water bowl and any likely spillage, and sets up a sleeping cot in a corner of the living room. He buys a few toys and places them neatly in a box next to the cot.

Pretty soon, it becomes clear that the sleeping cot won't get much use, since Eames likes to paw at the bedskirt and whine pitifully until Arthur rolls over with a sleepy smack of his lips and pulls up the pup, who'll wriggle against Arthur's side, lick his neck a bit (which Arthur finds totally gross the first week, but is too sleepy to fight against and finally just accepts), and then settles down to sleep with a whining yawn.

"Eames peed on the carpet," Arthur complains a week later, dropping off some papers at Cobb's house.

"I'm not surprised," Cobb answers, the corner of his lips twitching as he tries valiantly to keep a serious face, "Seems like something he'd do."

Arthur grunts in ill humor as he swipes an apple off the counter and bites into it viciously, "I get dibs on shooting the— are Phillipa and James upstairs? Alright— the bastard in the face on our next extraction, and then telling him it's because he peed on my new five-hundred-dollar Turkish rug."

Cobb doesn't stop laughing for at least a full minute at Arthur's righteous indignation.

Arthur quickly learns one thing:

"Ah, shit. There's dog hair on my suits!"

"How much attention do you _need?_" Arthur wonders, amazed and exasperated, when the puppy begins gnawing on his shoe. The first time that had happened, Arthur had stood up so abruptly Eames had jumped back and yipped, momentarily startled, and then came back with a vengeance to play-fight with this new 'opponent'. Arthur had hurriedly plucked him from the floor and checked his shoe, cringing at the saliva coating the tip, and then stared at Eames. _How the hell do you discipline a dog? _he wondered.

Now, he has a rolled up newspaper at his desk and in the kitchen, and he swats Eames's nose every time he misbehaves. But sometimes the pup gets impatient and is unwilling to chase his tail for another hour while Arthur finishes his work, and forgets about the whole swatting consequence. Unfortunately, Arthur has found that the easiest way to prevent the demise of his shoes is to take a break, God forbid, and give the dog what it wants.

But it's the fourth time in an _hour_.

"You do realize that I'm indulging you only because you're young and therefore cannot have a well-developed sense of self-restraint, right?" Arthur tells it, standing up and reaching for the bouncy ball on the shelf, "As soon as we get another assignment, this is ending. Got it?"

Eames rolls on his back and Arthur succumbs to his adorably soft tummy and rubs it.

Arthur talks to it. A lot.

"Hey, back off a bit, will you? I can feel the warmth of your breath, and that means my salad can too. This is not for you – this is rabbit food. And you're the furthest thing from a —well, alright, _I'm_ the furthest thing from a rabbit in here, but. I'm an omnivore. You're not."

Eames sits back, cocks his head, and apparently says, _So?_

"That's a terrible movie, you know," Arthur informs him with a glance, flipping through the channels as he settles back with a cup of coffee in front of the television, "So many plot holes you could use it as a net to catch fish."

He teaches Eames tricks. In his mind, it's crucial for a dog to know tricks and be obedient, loyal, and well-trained. There's the standard sit, stand, heel, trot, handshake, and roll over. At a stern word, he also freezes, looking to Arthur for further instructions. Arthur teaches him to play fetch, and he teaches him to recognize the PASIV and drag it over to him on command. In fact, after much consideration and a study of his pup's teeth, he decides to go ahead and teach him to tug the PASIV needle out. This is rather messy and painful, and thus would only be used as a last resort, but one never knows when it could be useful.

He also brings him over to Cobb's house every time he can. It's as much a break for him at it is playtime for Eames. And to say the kids love him is like saying kids like candy.

"He's a handful alright," Arthur mutters, feigning annoyance. They sip at beers, leaning against the porch railing as they watch the kids and the pup running around the backyard. The air is awash with the faint orange tinge of the late afternoon sun, and the cicadas bathe them in white noise, peppered here and there by shrill squeals and the occasional birdcall. Cobb gives him a glance out of the corner of his eyes, lips stretching into a slow, fond smile at the peaceful contentment on Arthur's face.

"I'm glad he is," he responds, "I always thought it unfair how pristinely clean your apartment is."

"That's because I don't have _kids_, Dom."

The look Cobb sends him makes Arthur realize that's exactly what Cobb meant.

Arthur becomes attuned to the quirks of his newest tenant—his favorites spots to nap under, his favorite toys to chew on. When Arthur wakes in the morning, Eames wakes with him and trots alongside him to the kitchen, waits rather impatiently for his food, and then sits at Arthur's feet gnawing on a toy as Arthur reads his morning paper.

"You'll be happy to hear that Saito's company's stock went up, Eames," Arthur tells him. Eames looks up and licks Arthur's ankle, and Arthur's glad there was no one around to see the way he jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sensation.

Arthur has to admit that he feels an odd sensation of warmth when he opens his apartment door and hears a short bark and the scrabbling of nails on the wooden floor, and then is accosted by Eames, wriggling and yipping and deliriously happy to see his owner. Before, Arthur would walk into his apartment, hang his keys, drape his jacket in his bedroom and go to the kitchen for a glass of water, all with the same neutral expression on his face. Now, Arthur goes through the same procedure with a smile on his face and breaks to scratch Eames behind the ears and rub his flank, laughing at his antics. It's not exactly the same as walking in to Cobb's house and being accosted by two smiling, chattering children, but it's a very similar feeling, and Arthur is immensely grateful for it. His apartment is more of a home now, filled with smiles and conversation, even if they're only his.

"Hello, Eames," Arthur says the next time they see each other— another extraction request a few months later. Though the greeting can only be called cordial at best, that's miles more cheerful than Arthur's ever greeted Eames before.

Eames tilts his head, and opens his mouth once or twice, uncharacteristically unsure of how to respond. He finally settles for something neutral enough like, "Well, well, someone's in a good mood. Finally got someone to remove that stick up your ass, love?"

Arthur rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not even bothering to take his eyes away from the PASIV as he sits on the balls of his feet and sets it up, "Oh, nothing like that. I just feel more positive towards you, that's all."

Eames peers at Arthur like he's trying to figure out the trick part of the question and goes to sit in one of the swivel chairs, crossing his legs and rocking back and forth a bit, "Oh? How so?"

The strangest expression crosses Arthur's face. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was about to smile. Deviously. Eames's eyebrows scrunch together, _what the bloody hell_? written all over his face. It's as baffling as if Robert Fischer had decided to become a rodeo clown after his father's death. He reaches in his pocket and runs his finger along his poker chip. Shit, well, that rules out some sort of weird alien dream.

"I just feel like I could bear my soul out to you," Arthur says, finally facing Eames with a completely straight face, "Go to the park with you. Maybe play some fetch."

Cobb makes an odd strangling noise, that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

"You prick," Eames says, still unsure of how to take this new angle on their little rivalry, "Isn't it _my_ job to make weird comments about you, sweetheart? Yours are usually nice and predictable like 'you're _so_ unprofessional, Eames,' or my favorite 'I get to shoot you in the head next dream'— I'd like to get your bullet in me, if you know what I mean."

Arthur levels a flat, unamused gaze at him, "You know what, I take it back. I definitely like you better when you're on your back and playing dead."

Arthur closes the PASIV and leaves the room without another word, leaving Eames to yell at his back, "When have I ever done _that_?"

Cobb laughs, and Eames glares warningly at him. Cobb quickly wipes the grin off his face and focuses back on his papers.

"Oh come girl, it's not that hard to do," Eames says, adjusting his cuff links and looking himself in the mirror, done with practicing his next forgery object.

"That's just dishonorable! I am not going to be that kind of person," Ariadne glares, disbelieving, "You're incredible, you know that? I can't believe you actually think it's okay for me to do that," why did she think it'd be a good idea to tell _Eames_ about her relationship troubles at school?

"Well, you said he says he's not really attached to his girlfriend, right? So what's the harm? He wants to, you want to, that's fair game, isn't it, darling?"

"I can't believe you! I am not going to be the accomplice to someone _cheating_!"

Eames shrugs, "Suit yourself. I'm not the one passing up the opportunity to pursue a relationship that clearly _could_ work," he stands and waves at her, grinning at her infuriated expression, "Toodles!"

He walks out the door and Ariadne sits on the couch with a huff, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it against her chest. Better than squeezing Eames's neck. She's still fuming when Cobb and Arthur walk in, chatting amiably.

"Eames is at that stage."

"Which one?"

"The one where he just humps anything in sight."

Cobb laughs. Ariadne makes a gagging noise and says sarcastically, "I'm not surprised. It's natural for him, isn't it?"

Arthur gives her an odd look, "Well, yes," he says carefully. He looks back to Cobb, "I'm not really sure what to do about it though."

"Teach him morals?" Ariadne quips, "Oh wait, I guess that's kind of hard to do with him." Ariadne huffs, tossing the pillow back on the couch and stalks out of the room, her angry footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

"What is she so angry about? Does she not like dogs?" Arthur says, bewildered.

Cobb just shrugs, equally at a loss.

This is how Eames finds out about Eames.

Cobb invites them all for dinner at his home to commemorate something or the other. Probably one of those sentimental notions of his. It also caps a mission gone off without a hitch, in which Eames, Ariadne and Yusuf had participated. Whether Eames thinks it rather saccharine doesn't blunt the fact that he is curious to meet Cobb and Mal's children, whom he's heard of plenty but never met, and supposedly, Cobb has become quite the cook in the past two or three years.

The plan is to pick up Arthur at his apartment on the way back from the airport.

Cobb opens the door and Ariadne thinks it's cute that they have each other's house keys. Eames rolls his eyes thinks, bloody hell, these two are so adorably _trusting_. Eames would never dare let someone have free rein like that over his flat. Not that he's in it much, in any case. The front foyer area is clean and elegantly decorated, all mahogany wood and dark, gleaming reflections and abstract painters.

"He has such a classy apartment," Ariadne says, swiping a finger along the frame of one of the paintings. Not even a layer of dust.

"Probably paid someone to decorate it to suit his personality – slightly pretentious with a dash of mundane normalcy," Eames quips with a grin.

"Arthur, are you ready?" Cobb calls out, letting them in and heading towards the kitchen.

They hear a far off voice replying, "Give me a minute."

"Is the—"

"Yes, I put it in the freezer."

Cobb nods, even though no one's looking, and opens the freezer to take out a chilled bottle of wine. Eames and Ariadne let him rummage through drawers that he knows much too well, and head down the hallway towards where they hear Arthur talking on the phone. Or so it seems until Eames hears his name.

"Eames…" it's that faintly disapproving and warning tone that Arthur tends to use so often with Eames, but laced with a hint of amusement and affection that Arthur very rarely lets slip around Eames. Eames is about to say _I haven't done anything!_ _Yet_. when Arthur adds, slightly breathless, "Don't lick me there."

They both freeze, Ariadne's head whipping to stare at Eames who is equally as flabbergasted. Unless there is another forger around that Eames isn't aware of, Arthur must be going crazy, or doing this on purpose to rile Eames up, but then again, sexual innuendo— or whatever this is— isn't Arthur's style at all. Eames feels his pulse speed up as Arthur _moans_, saying, "God, your _tongue_, Eames."

And for Pete's sake, it's _Arthur_, stick-in-the-mud Arthur, he should not be able to sound so… well, there's no other word to use but delicious. Eames feels slightly hot all over, shifting to hide his sudden discomfort, and one glance at Ariadne finds her equally affected, dark eyes pinned on a spot on the floor mouth parted slightly under faintly flushed cheeks.

Eames _demands_ an explanation for this, but he's almost afraid, though incredibly curious, to see what's going on in that bedroom. He squares his shoulders and decides to walk in, not sure what to expect, but sure that he's seen, or done, worse.

What he finds is Arthur, sitting at the edge of his bed, pulling on his socks.

"Oh, hello," Arthur says, glancing up at them, "I apologize for the delay, I got sidetracked by some papers. Did Cobb get you something to drink?"

"But you—what—a moment—"

Ariadne peeks her head in, equally as curious, "Who were you—"

A golden bar of fur suddenly barks, and Eames jumps and Ariadne coos as it bounds towards them, tail wagging and paws scratching at their pants, looking for attention from the newest playthings.

"Eames," Arthur reprimands and both man and dog freeze and look towards Arthur, until Eames realizes it's the same exact tone as before and connects the dots. His jaw drops.

"You—"

"I didn't know you had a dog!" Ariadne interrupts. Arthur smiles, snapping his fingers, and the pup immediately trots over to him, sitting at his feet. Arthur pets it, muttering words of praise. He glances up at Eames, and the smirk on his face shows that yes, he knows exactly what Eames was about to say.

Eames runs a hand through his hair, "This is fucking unbelievable. You are a sly, twisted—"

Ariadne gives Eames an odd look but ignores him, bending down to pet the dog, "So what's his name?"

Arthur presses a hand against his mouth to stifle his laughter at Eames's groan, and Ariadne's eyes suddenly widen. Her cheeks redden abruptly as she murmurs, "That explains so much…"

"Doesn't it, now," Arthur smirks. Eames throws a pillow at him.

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**Hope you enjoyed that. I wouldn't be surprised if Arthur really had done that on purpose knowing Eames was there the whole time ;) **

**ETA: Guys, it's done. There's no point in putting this story on story alert, because it's completed! I'm not planning on doing anything more with it, sorry!  
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